Nassagaweya, and Other Minor Calamities
By the time we reached the final ten kilometers, we were, to put it delicately, no longer in peak condition. It was 10 p.m. We’d been riding since six in the morning. Most of us had been up since four. I was sunburned, bruised, mildly concussed by heat, and radiating the unmistakable smell of someone who had eaten too many granola bars in a single day. And still, it felt good.
Michel arrives at the final control in Waterloo.
There’s a part of the route every ride in Waterloo seems to share, a stretch of road that tells you you’re almost home. For me, that’s the intersection of Katherine S...